Linder scratched his tousled brown hair reflectively as he gazed after
the retreating form of Transley. His hat was off, and the perspiration
stood on his sunburned face--a face which, in point of handsomeness,
needed make no apology to Transley.
“Well, by thunder!” said Linder; “by thunder, think of that!”
Linder stood for some time, thinking “of that” as deeply as his somewhat
disorganized mental state would permit. For Transley had announced, with
his usual directness, that he wanted so many men and teams for a house
excavation in the most exclusive part of the city. So far they had been
building in the cheaper districts a cheap type of house for those who,
having little capital, are the easier deprived of what they have. The
shift in operations caused Linder to lift his eyebrows.
Transley laughed boyishly and clapped a palm on his shoulder.
“I may as well make you wise, Linder,” he said. “We’re going to build a
house for Mr. and Mrs. Transley.”
“MISSUS?” Linder echoed, incredulously.
“That’s the good word,” Transley confirmed. “Never expected it to happen
to me, but it did, all of a sudden. You want to look out; maybe it’s
catching.”
Transley was evidently in prime humor. Linder had, indeed, noted this
good humor for some time, but had attributed it to the very successful
operations in which his employer had been engaged. He pulled himself
together enough to offer a somewhat confused congratulation.
“And may I ask who is to be the fortunate young lady?” he ventured.
“You may,” said Transley, “but if you could see the length of your nose
it wouldn’t be necessary. Linder, you’re the best foreman I ever had,
just because you don’t ever think of anything else. When you pass on
there’ll be no heaven for you unless they give you charge of a bunch of
men and teams where you can raise a sweat and make money for the boss.
If you weren’t like that you would have anticipated what I’ve told
you--or perhaps made a play for Zen yourself.”
“Zen? You don’t mean Y.D.’s daughter?”
“If I don’t mean Y.D.’s daughter I don’t mean anybody, and you can take
that from me. You bet it’s Zen. Say, Linder, I didn’t think I could
go silly over a girl, but I’m plumb locoed. I bought the biggest old
sparkler in this town and sent it out with Y.D., if he didn’t lose it
through the lining of his vest--he handled it like it might have been a
box of pills--bad pills, Linder--and I’ve got an architect figuring how
much expense he can put on a house--he gets a commission on the cost,
you see--and one of these nights I’m going to buy you a dinner that’ll
keep you fed till Christmas. I never knew before that silliness and
happiness go together, but they do. I’m glad I’ve got a sober old
foreman--that’s all that keeps the business going.”
And after Transley had turned away Linder had scratched his head and
said “By thunder.... Linder, when you wake up you’ll be dead.... After
her practically saying ‘The water’s fine.’... Well, that’s why I’m a
foreman, and always will be.”
But after a little reflection Linder came to the conclusion that perhaps
it was all for the best. He could not have bought Y.D.’s daughter a big
sparkler or have built her a fine home--because he was a foreman. It
was a round circle.... He threw himself into the building of Transley’s
house with as much fidelity as if it had been his own. He gave his
undivided attention to Transley’s interests, making dollars for him
while earning cents for himself. This attention was more needed than it
ever had been, as Transley found it necessary to make weekly trips to
the ranch in the foothills to consult with Y.D. upon business matters.
Zen found her interest in Transley growing as his attentions continued.
He spent money upon her lavishly, to the point at which she protested,
for although Y.D. was rated as a millionaire the family life was one of
almost stark simplicity. Transley assured her that he was making money
faster than he possibly could spend it, and even if not, money had no
nobler mission than to bring her happiness. He explained the blue-prints
of the house, and discussed with her details of the appointments. As the
building progressed he brought her weekly photographs of it. He urged
her to set the date about Christmas; during the winter contracting would
be at a standstill, so they would spend three months in California and
return in time for the spring business.
Day by day the girl turned the situation over in her mind. Her life
had been swept into strange and unexpected channels, and the experience
puzzled her. Since the episode with Drazk she had lost some of her
native recklessness; she was more disposed to weigh the result of her
actions, and she approached the future not without some misgivings. She
assured herself that she looked forward to her marriage with Transley
with the proper delight of a bride-to-be, and indeed it was a prospect
that could well be contemplated with pleasure.... Transley had won the
complete confidence of her father and when doubts assailed her Zen found
in that fact a very considerable comfort. Y.D. was a shrewd man; a man
who seldom guessed wrong. Zen did not admit that she was allowing
her father to choose a husband for her, but the fact that her father
concurred in the choice strengthened her in it. Transley had in him
qualities which would win not only wealth, but distinction, and she
would share in the laurels. She told herself that it was a delightful
outlook; that she was a very happy girl indeed--and wondered why she was
not happier!
Particularly she laid it upon herself that she must now, finally,
dismiss Dennison Grant from her mind. It was absurd to suppose that
she cared more for Grant than she did for Transley. The two men were so
different; it was impossible to make comparisons. They occupied quite
different spheres in her regard. To be sure, Grant was a very likeable
man, but he was not eligible as a husband, and she could not marry two,
in any case. Zen entertained no girlish delusions about there being only
one man in the world. On the contrary, she was convinced that there
were very many men in the world, and, among the better types, there was,
perhaps, not so much to choose between them. Grant would undoubtedly be
a good husband within his means; so would Transley, and his means were
greater. The blue-prints of the new house in town had not been without
their effect. It was a different prospect from being a foreman’s wife on
a ranch. Her father would never hear of it....
So she busied herself with preparations for the great event, and what
preparations they were! “Zen,” her father had said, “for once the lid is
off. Go the limit!” She took him at his word. There were many trips
to town, and activities about the old ranch buildings such as they had
never known since Jessie Wilson came to finish Y.D.’s up-bringing, nor
even then. The good word spread throughout the foothill country and down
over the prairies, and many a lazy cloud of dust lay along the November
hillsides as the women folk of neighboring ranches came to pay their
respects and gratify their curiosity. Zen had treasures to show which
sent them home with new standards of extravagance.
Y.D. had not thought he could become so worked up over a simple matter
like a wedding. Time had dulled the edge of memory, but even after
making allowances he could not recall that his marriage to Jessie Wilson
had been such an event in his life as this. It did not at least reflect
so much glory upon him personally. He basked in the reflected glow of
his daughter’s beauty and popularity, as happily as the big cat lying
on the sunny side of the bunk-house. He found all sorts of excuses for
invading where his presence was little wanted while Zen’s finery
was being displayed for admiration. Y.D. always pretended that such
invasions were quite accidental, and affected a fine indifference to all
this “women’s fuss an’ feathers,” but his affectations deceived at least
none of the older visitors.
As the great day approached Y.D.’s wife shot a bomb-shell at him. “What
do you propose to wear for Zen’s wedding?” she demanded.
“What’s the matter with the suit I go to town in?”
“Y.D.,” said his wife, kindly, “there are certain little touches which
you overlook. Your town suit is all right for selling steers, although
I won’t say that it hasn’t outlived its prime even for that. To attend
Zen’s wedding it is--hardly the thing.”
“It’s been a good suit,” he protested. “It is--”
“It HAS. It is also a venerable suit. But really, Y.D., it will not
do for this occasion. You must get yourself a new suit, and a white
shirt--”
“What do I want with a white shirt--”
“It has to be,” his wife insisted. “You’ll have to deck yourself out in
a new suit and a while shirt and collar.”
Y.D. stamped around the room, and in a moment slipped out. “All fool
nonsense,” he confided to himself, on his way to the bunk-house. “It’s
all right for Zen to have good clothes--didn’t I tell her to go the
limit?--but as for me, ‘tain’t me that’s gettin’ married, is it?
Standin’ up before all them cow punchers in a white shirt!” The
bitterness of such disgrace cut the old rancher no less keenly than the
physical discomfort which he forecast for himself, yet he put his own
desires sufficiently to one side to buy a suit of clothes, and a white
shirt and collar, when he was next in town.
It must not be supposed that Y.D. admitted to the salesman that he
personally was descending to any such garb.
“A suit for a fellow about my size,” he explained. “He’s visitin’ out
at the ranch, an’ he hefts about the same as me. Put in one of them
Hereford shirts an’ a collar.”
Y.D. tucked the package surreptitiously in his room and awaited the day
of Zen’s marriage with mingled emotions.
Zen, yielding to Transley’s importunities, had at last said that it
should be Christmas Day. The wedding would be in the house, with the
leading ranchers and farmers of the district as invited guests, and
the general understanding was to be given out that the countryside as a
whole would be welcome. All could not be taken care of in the house, so
Y.D. gave orders that the hay was to be cleared out of one of the barns
and the floor put in shape for dancing. Open house would be held in
the barn and in the bunk-house, where substantial refreshments would be
served to all and sundry.
Christmas Day dawned with a seasonable nip to the air, but the sun rose
warm and bright. There was no snow, and by early afternoon clouds of
dust were rising on every trail leading to the Y.D. The old ranchers
and their wives drove in buckboards, and one or two in automobiles;
the younger generation, of both sexes, came on horseback, with many an
exciting impromptu race by the way. Y.D. received them all in the
yard, commenting on the horses and the weather, and how the steers
were wintering, and revealing, at the proper moments, the location of
a well-filled stone jug. The faithful Linder was on hand to assist in
caring for the horses and maintaining organization about the yard. The
women were ushered into the house, but the men sat about the bunk-house
or leaned against the sunny side of the barn, sharpening their wits
in conversational sallies which occasionally brought loud guffaws of
merriment.
In the house every arrangement had been completed. Zen was to come down
the stairs leaning on her father’s arm, and the ceremony would take
place in the big central room, lavishly decorated with flowers which
Transley had sent from town in a heated automobile. After the ceremony
the principals and the older people would eat the wedding dinner in
the house, and all others would be served in the bunk-house. One of the
downstairs rooms was already filled with presents.
As the hour approached Zen found herself possessed of a calmness which
she deemed worthy of Y.D.’s daughter. She had elected to be unattended
as she had no very special girl friend, and that seemed the simplest
way out of the problem of selecting someone for this honor. She was,
however, amply assisted with her dressing, and the color of her fine
cheeks burned deeper with the compliments to which she listened with
modest appreciation.
At a quarter to the hour it was discovered that Y.D. had not yet dressed
for the occasion. He was, in fact, engaged with Landson in making a
tentative arrangement for the distribution of next year’s hay. Zen had
been so insistent upon an invitation being sent to Mr. and Mrs. Landson,
that Y.D., although fearing a snub for his pains, at last conceded the
point. He had done his neighbor rather less than justice, and now he
and Landson, with the assistance of the jug already referred to, were
burying the hatchet in a corner of the bunk-house.
“Dang this dressin’,” Y.D. remonstrated when a message demanding instant
action reached him. “Landson, hear me now! I wouldn’t take a million
dollars for that girl, y’ understand--and I wouldn’t trade a mangy
cayuse for another!”
So, grumbling, he found his way to his room and began a wrestle with his
“store” clothes. Before the fight was over he was being reminded through
the door that he wasn’t roping a steer, and everybody was waiting. At
the last moment he discovered that he had neglected to buy shoes. There
was nothing for it but his long ranch boots, so on they went.
He sought Zen in her room. “Will I do in this?” he asked, feeling very
sheepish.
Zen could have laughed, or she could have cried, but she did neither.
She sensed in some way the fact that to her father this experience was a
positive ordeal. So she just slipped her arm through his and whispered,
“Of course you’ll do, you silly old duffer,” and tripped down the stairs
by the side of his ponderous steps.
After the ceremony the elder people sat down to dinner in the house,
and the others in the bunk-house. Zen was radiant and calm; Transley
handsome, delighted, self-possessed. His good luck was the subject of
many a comment, both inside and out of the old house. He accepted it at
its full value, and yet as one who has a right to expect that luck will
play him some favors.
Suddenly there was a rush from outside, and Zen found herself being
carried bodily away. The young people had decided that the dancing could
wait no longer, so a half dozen hustlers had been deputed to kidnap
the bride and carry her to the barn, where the fiddles were already
strumming. Zen insisted that the first dance must belong to Transley,
but after that she danced with the young ranchers and cowboys with
strict impartiality. And even as she danced she found herself wondering
if, among all this representation of the countryside, that one upon whom
her thoughts had turned so much should be missing. She found herself
watching the door. Surely it would have been only a decent respect to
her--surely he might have helped to whirl her joyously away into the new
life in which the past had to be forgotten.... How much better that they
should part that way, than with the memories they had!
But Dennison Grant did not appear. Evidently he preferred to keep his
memories....
When at last the night had worn thin and it was time for the bridal
couple to leave if they were to catch the morning train in town,
and they had ridden down the foothill trails to the thunder of many
accompanying hoof-beats, the old ranch became suddenly a place very
quiet and still and alone. Y.D. sat down in the corner of the big room
by the fire, and saw strange pictures in its dying embers. Zen....
Zen!... Transley was a good fellow, but how much a man will take with
scarce a thank-you!... Presently Y.D. became aware of a hand resting
upon his shoulder, and tingling from its fingertips came something akin
to the almost forgotten rapture of a day long gone. He raised his great
palm and took that slowly ageing hand, once round and fresh like Zen’s,
in his. Together they watched the fire die out in the silence of their
empty house....